First Thought Only
by wsprsndadrk
Summary: She used to have a poisonous tongue, armed with a streak of ruthlessness and augmented by a sizzling intellect; each working in tandem to disarm, parry, riposte, and finally, to move in for the kill. And now, she had been struck dumb. She needed a new tactic. One that would give her an advantage. Her eyes suddenly focused and she blinked. Slowly, Bulma smiled.


It wasn't fair.

She used to be a spitfire. She used to have a poisonous tongue, armed with a streak of ruthlessness and augmented by a sizzling intellect; each working in tandem to disarm, parry, riposte, and finally, to move in for the kill. Sometimes her win would come after a slow and steady build up, as if carried on low rumbling thunder, finally to erupt in a crescendo of crashing storms and screaming winds. Other times, the win would come after it slipped through defenses unnoticed. Those wins took time to sink in, rather like a sharp knife to the ribs; buried to the hilt, but undetected until twisted. Her words were her weapon, and she used to wield them effortlessly. The edge of her tongue could cause the targeted ego to bleed before the owner even realized that they had been cut. She welcomed any challenger; the greater the battle, the greater her victory.

She used to be glorious. Flawless.

And now, she had been struck dumb.

She had no idea what it felt like to power up, but she now has an idea of what it feels like to reach for the ambrosia of limitless power and find nothing but a vast, yawning emptiness. She never expected to reach for words and have none rise up to meet her.

Betrayed by her own silence when she had anticipated – relied on – a tumble of menacing arguments that simply failed to come, she snapped her jaw shut, clenched her fists, turned on her heels, and stiffly walked away. She never saw the look of shock on his face, followed by crumpled confusion. She never saw that, in her failure to retort, he had also been struck dumb. As she retreated, so had he. She never saw his frown, one that so echoed her own.

ooOoo

Bulma swung the door of her room open and stormed through. She slammed it closed behind her, unaware of the sound it caused, not that she'd have cared had she noticed. She paused in the center of the room, eyes unfocused, brows pinched, and mouth pressed in a thin line. How had this happened? She was unmatched in her ability to twist words, and yet here she stood - defeated.

She swung about and let herself fall spread eagle onto the mattress of her bed, bouncing several times before coming to rest. She didn't even remember what he had said. Likely, it was something trivial and meaningless; something not meant to truly insult or belittle, but rather to inflame and invite retribution. They never really screamed at each other to cause hurt or invoke genuine anger. Somehow, and she couldn't remember when it had started or who had done it first, they began throwing barbs at each other. Barbs evolved into an insatiable need to challenge and engage. She didn't know what she loved more; his reaction to her comments, or her reactions to his. They rose to meet each other in a collision of thrilling shouts and taunts. Such was the intensity behind their arguments, the need to indulge it had eventually developed an identity of its own. It was hot and greedy. It was provocative and passionate. It was a sensual dance. A symphony of gluttonous sin and vice only they could understand.

She sighed.

No matter how worked up she got, no matter the power of her frenzy, he always followed her lead. Most of the time, after it had ended and she was sure she was alone, she would retreat to the safety of her room, completely satiated, with a self-indulgent grin in her face. She suspected he reciprocated the sentiment.

Their arguments didn't have to be wild and full of fury. Sometimes the comments were ridiculous, meant to throw the other off guard. She pursed her lips. Sometimes their arguments made no sense at all. Threats and innuendos got jumbled up until the purpose of the argument disintegrated into who could outmatch the other in pure whimsical nonsense. Some of her best ideas for inventions came out of those little talks. She couldn't believe how creative he could be. He cheated by bringing in unfamiliar alien culture and language. She supposed she cheated by bringing in advanced mathematical theory and particle physics. She couldn't decide which of them was better at philosophy. Anatomy was a new one, but they hadn't ventured into that territory with much detail. Those arguments became awkward quickly.

She grabbed a pillow and crushed it over her face before screaming into it. She stayed in this position for a few deep breaths, then threw the pillow into the corner of the room.

She needed a new tactic. One that would give her an advantage.

She looked at the ceiling, unblinking and searched inward. He always followed her lead…

Her eyes suddenly focused and she blinked. Slowly, Bulma smiled.

ooOoo

The next morning, Bulma was giddy. She bounded down the stairs, skipping one or two here and there, and nearly fell on the bottom step when she miscalculated her trajectory. Her eyes darted around the room, looking to see if her blunder had a witness. When she saw no one, she chuckled at herself before tossing her head so her bangs were out of her face. The picture of perfect composure, she raised her chin and sauntered towards the kitchen.

Vegeta didn't look up at her as she entered, but his spoon paused halfway to his mouth for a moment before it completed its journey. He knew something was – different – and he was wary. She suppressed the evil laugh that threatened to bubble out of her chest and put a smile on her face instead. She pulled out a chair and plopped herself bodily onto it before sliding an empty plate in front of her. After a few moments of piling random breakfast items onto the plate, she paused while reaching for a bowl of strawberries after noticing Vegeta's bemused stare. Looking down, she realized her plate was piled almost as high as his. She elected to give the strawberries a reprieve, and instead sat back to futilely attack the mountain of french toast, jam, syrup, peanut butter, tater tots, scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, melon, and sausage.

The corner of his mouth tilted up along with an eyebrow. "Hungry?"

Bulma blew her bangs and huffed, "Not particularly hungry. Just in a good mood."

Vegeta's eyebrows sank over liquid, alien eyes. "I fail to see how one is related to the other."

She leaned over the table as if to share a secret and looked him dead in the eye, scrunched her nose mischievously, and gave him a feral grin. "Big of you to admit that you're a failure, but since I am in such a good mood, I'll actually tell you what I'm up to. I don't want to waste time while I wait for you to figure it out."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed to slits, but he waited for her to continue without comment.

Bulma drew herself up and smiled. "I declare today FTO day."

She raised her hand before he could reply. "Not FTO as in Field Training Officer, so you can forget about war tactics and on-the-job-purge-training. I mean First Thought Only day. Instead of twisting words in a verbal spar for the purpose of continuously one upping each other, which most often results in a convoluted, nonsensical _non_-conversation, we're going to say the first thing that we think. Forces complete honesty."

She bounced in her seat, the picture of glee. "I finally get straight answers when I ask you a question instead of you answering a question with a question."

Vegeta tilted his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth as if to say something, paused, closed his mouth, and abruptly stood up and walked out of the kitchen.

Most of his breakfast was uneaten.

Bulma beamed.

ooOoo

Bulma scowled.

She'd tried more times than she could count to corner Vegeta. She had even disabled the gravity room expecting a surly Saiyan to come out and accuse her of sabotage before demanding she fix it. He was a no show. Nothing. Nadda. It was suddenly like, in addition to super strength, speed, the ability to fly and to shoot energy balls out of his hands, he had developed the ability to turn invisible. She was starting to get frustrated.

Tired of hunting the elusive prince, Bulma threw up her hands. Whatever. This wasn't defeat, but she wasn't going to waste her entire day stalking a man who could easily avoid her because he could sense where she was.

It wasn't fair.

She tossed her head and huffed. Well, it was a stupid idea, anyway. It's not like he agreed to play along. Her eyebrows pinched. Then again, he never said he wouldn't play. Why else would he avoid her? There wouldn't be a point hiding from her if he wasn't going to bother playing.

She rolled her eyes and shrugged at herself. Fuck it. She was going to watch television. If he wanted to play, he'd come to her.

ooOoo

Hours later, something jolted her out of a peaceful cat nap she hadn't realized she'd been taking. Despite her frantic attempts to catch it, the glass of water that she had put on the armrest of the couch toppled over, soaking the front of her shirt. She launched herself from her seat, holding the freezing cloth away from her skin and hopped up and down while flailing her other arm uselessly.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, followed by another, closer crash. She let her head fall back as she raised her eyes to the ceiling. At least she knew what had awoken her. She sighed.

"Clearly, this is the pinnacle of my ever eventful life, which until now, has been utterly incomplete," she said to the ceiling fan.

Pinching the soaked cloth in front of her, she waddled up the stairs towards the closest bathroom for a towel. Turning the knob to open the door, she lost her balance when the door swung open unexpectedly and pulled her in. A bronzed, statuesque torso stopped her from falling to the bathroom floor. The first thing she noticed was an almost visible aura of coppery-gold heat radiating from the wall of flesh milimeters from her eyes. Her brain, still fogged from sleep, didn't quite register all of the variables in this equation. She didn't realize that her eyes were hungrily devouring skin that looked like melted caramel. She tasted the air, wondering if the creamy color would smell like spice and cinnamon or honey and chocolate.

She followed the curves of muscles with her eyes, fascinated with how they moved with the ebbing and flowing of sensual breaths. Breaths that cascaded over the sensitive skin of her collar bone. Breaths that, when they reached her damp shirt and chilled, caused her skin to pebble.

The second thing she noticed was that the only reason she hadn't been pulled to the floor when the door swung open was because she was being held up. Her brain froze.

Though her traitorous mind had abandoned her - again - her body reacted. Her eyes flew open and the sudden shift in her weight from leaping backwards caused her balance to completely desert her. She'd have fallen completely on her ass if the wall hadn't been in the way. Panting in short, choppy breaths, her eyes remained wide open but down cast. She refused to look up at his face when she knew her cheeks - hell, her whole _body_ - was inflamed with nuclear embarrassment. Of course, completely without her permission or control, her eyes kept flicking to his face and she had to wrench her gaze back down several times.

Slowly, using the wall for support, she tried to compose herself. She bit her bottom lip to help control her breathing, and stood up straight bit by bit. She held off as long as she could, but finally looked up into the prince's midnight eyes.. and felt her stomach clench with a sudden wave of - something. Fear? Arousal? She couldn't tell the difference, but she suddenly understood why people had been terrified of Vegeta. The intensity of his gaze squeezed her brain until there was nothing inside of her but his presence. With his telepathic abilities, he could force that all-encompassing presence to be horrifying. _Or whatever else he wanted it to_ _be_, said a small voice in her head. The thought made her head spin. Was he doing that right now? Could he control it or did it just… leak out? She shuddered and tried to force the blubbering scientist in her brain to regain objectivity. It was probably just a mix of her hyperventilation, embarrassment, and the look on his face. Pushing the dizziness away, she tried distracting herself from the effects of his eyes by focusing on their anatomy.

There was no discernable difference in color between his pupils and irises, which made it hard to tell where he was looking – or, more likely, hid that he was looking everywhere at once. His irises were much larger than that of a human, and with his eyelids lowered as they were, barely any of the bluish-white sclera showed at all. The silvery light-reflective sheen that allowed him to see in near total darkness gave a depth to those alien eyes, making them shimmer in the low light of the hallway and gave the impression that his eyes were lit from within.

His eyes were always bottomless, but instead of being soulless, they brimmed with _too much_, which is likely why they could be so terrifying. Bulma closed her eyes for reprieve, but an after image burned against her retinas.

Feeling suddenly off balance without his gaze pinning her to the wall, she opened her eyes and they automatically sought his. They were no longer overflowing. Instead, they were full of soft curiosity; the only expression he wore at all. Her nervousness dissipated, but her embarrassment still clung to her with greediness. She forced herself to focus.

With her attention back on his eyes as a part of an expression instead of a dissection, she saw him glance down, taking note of her wet shirt. She could almost hear the "ah," click in his head. Without turning his eyes away from her, he reached to his side and pulled a towel from the rack and thrust it out to her.

She couldn't leave the support of the wall, so he took a few steps out of the bathroom so she could claim the towel. After she had plucked it from his hand, he offered a soft half smile and turned towards the stairs. At the last moment, he stopped and turned to face her. Oh! Of course he did. She almost rolled her eyes, knowing what to expect.

"First Thought Only?" he asked her.

If the situation were reversed, she'd be damned if she didn't take advantage. Turnabout is fair play. Despite her breath shuddering in expectation of utter humiliation, she nodded.

With unadulterated mirth dancing in his eyes, she almost died when he said, "You take hideousness to new heights with the shade of red you're wearing."

Somewhere inside her brain she might have understood that this was his way of saying it was foolish to allow her embarrassment enough control over her to outwardly show – how kind of him to think her above such things - but all rational thought exploded, leaving only the tattered edge of the rules intact. First Thought Only. _Because it forces complete honesty_, the voice in the back of her mind quipped. She killed the voice and concentrated on her anger. It was the only way she'd survive the mortification she was about to unleash.

She cringed but forced the words out, "HA! If I'm so hideous, why do you have a boner?"

He blinked, unsure of what she meant. Understanding was slow, but as he followed her gaze down, he thought he understood. He shot his head up. "What are you doing looking at my – "

"The same thing you were doing when you were looking at my tits a second ago! Admiring the view!"

He sucked in air and hissed, and suddenly she could see the whites of his eyes more clearly. At the word 'tits,' his gaze dropped to visually fondle her unbound girlie parts – which were easy to see through the wet shirt she was wearing - before being forcefully wrenched to her face again. Although she was still breathing heavily, positive that she was still radiating an unnamed shade of pink, she couldn't help that the corner of her mouth lifted. Judging by the look on his face, it appeared the prince had been struck dumb. Would this be a win? Or did he still have fight left?

She could see his jaw clench, a sure sign he was debating on whether or not he should speak. She wasn't disappointed. "What is the Earth phrase? My eye for your eye?"

She tilted her head. "An eye for an eye, but that's close enough." She pursed her lips and held her breath for a moment before letting it woosh out. "Vegeta.., is that your way of saying you'll let me ogle you if you can ogle me?" She grinned when he blushed. Who was allowing their embarrassment to show now?

A thought occurred to her and her smile suddenly grew wicked. "That wouldn't be fair for me. I'm good at encouraging ogling, and though I'm sure I could ogle the holy crap out of you, I'd make damn sure to win that race. So. What more do you offer in trade to even the score?"

He stared at her, blinking, while he stood silent and still. An uncomfortable length of time passed before an apparent decision was made, and he took a few languid, predatory steps towards her. He stopped when, if she took a deep breath, they'd be touching. This close, she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. Pulling her towards him with her hips, he leaned over until his lips were brushing her ear. His breath tickled as he whispered two words in his own language. Then, he slowly stood straight again to watch her face.

She peered up at him and chewed her bottom lip while he stared down at her and smugly waited for her face to crumple in puzzlement. The reaction he got wasn't what he expected.

She reached her arms and locked them around his neck and pulled him down. Standing on the tips of her toes, she could reach his ear to whisper in return.

"My room. Now."

Surprised, he looked at her with a healthy mix of suspicion and panic, but he didn't back away or break her hold on his neck. She laughed.

"Vegeta. I know how to speak your language. I made it a point to learn when I invited an atom bomb to live with me." She smiled widely. "I've learned so much about you by listening to you mutter about people under your breath. I especially liked your comments regarding my-" He growled. The sound reverberated from deep within his chest, and the vibrations against her body sent chills down her spine. She smiled brightly and trailed her fingers lightly down his chest, pleased when he sucked in more air, followed by a hiss. She raised an appraising eyebrow. That's the second time he had hissed. An involuntary sexual reaction? She nodded to herself. Definitely worth researching. Smirking to herself, it crossed her mind to experiment with his telepathy, as well. Just how much control did he have? And what would it take for him to lose it? She licked her lips. She was sure he could force terror on someone, so could he not also force – other things?

She looked at him through her lashes and pressed her hips against his. "So, let me get this right. In trade you're offering the use of your –"

Exasperated, he huffed. "You have talent with words. You make words backwards so they have any meaning you wish. It is infuriating. Actions cannot have more than one meaning. Action is where I have talent."

He tossed her over his shoulder and started walking towards her room.

Dangling over his back, she giggled. "Vegeta. We should have FTO day more often."

When he grunted, she replied, "Just so you know, I'm ogling your ass. If I'm going to have to start trading up, you'll just have to follow my lead."


End file.
